Dangling
by Dukes126plus
Summary: He couldn’t see himself up there, dangling with only the hardpan of the parking lot to catch him if he fell. From The Return of Hughie Hogg.


This one's from _The Return of Hughie Hogg_, and was inspired by the (as usual, creative) means Luke uses to get Boss's safe out of the Boar's Nest.

* * *

Seems like either him or Luke nearly gets themselves killed just about every week. They spend plenty of time on rooftops and in trees, too. In fact, he rode up to the Boar's Nest roof right alongside Luke on that platform dangling at the end of the crane, only a few minutes ago. Didn't much care for the way it felt, swinging over nothingness like that, but Luke was right there across from him, letting Bo stare into the blue of his eyes (_eyes_ _to lose yourself in_, as many a young lady in Hazzard has pointed out to him) and try to forget how far away the ground is.

Bo has never much cared for heights, not unless he's surrounded by the General's steel body with a deep gully below. Luke knows this instinctually; they don't talk about that kind of thing. He just accommodates Bo's need for distraction at moments when they're up high, and never admits that that's what he's doing.

But watching Luke fly back out of Boss's office alone, sitting on the safe that's too heavy for even the both of them together to lift, held by a rope that he has no reason in the world to trust, that's almost more than Bo can tolerate.

Luke's a quiet guy. For every time that Bo hollers at someone, Luke comes back with this low-toned menace that's somehow twice as effective. Doesn't complain much, either, at least not about important things. He makes it clear that his tolerance for stupidity is minimal, but pain, that he puts up with silently. Luke could be afraid up there and Bo would never know it. He's not, though. Bo's doing the worrying for them both, right up until Luke lands safely in the bed of Cooter's tow truck. Bo manages to stay put in the General like he's supposed to, but it's an unnatural feat of restraint for him.

None of the antics that follow make his mouth go dry like those aerial acrobatics did. Luke can hang out of the General's window all he wants, and that's fine, because Bo controls the car and would never let him get hurt.

"You ain't," Bo informs him later that night, "Riding on the cable of a crane, not ever again." Leastwise not with Cletus in the driver's seat. No, actually, it doesn't matter who's got the controls, Luke's not doing it.

That smirk right there disagrees with him, but Bo's adamant. They're on Uncle Jesse's porch, so he'll have to take Luke further from the house if this is going to get rough, but he has every intention of standing his ground.

"Bo." And that's Luke calling him ridiculous. Seems unfair, using a man's name against him in that way, but Luke's a master at it. He only needs one syllable to explain the kind of things another man would need to write a whole book in order to make clear. It's just another dang part of being a quiet guy, asserting his rightness about a subject he doesn't even know anything about. He couldn't see himself up there, dangling with only the hardpan of the parking lot to catch him if he fell.

Bo stands up from where he's been lounging on the steps, fiddling with his pocket knife just because it's there. Drops the knife back into its holder at his waist and pulls his shoulders back. "Well, you ain't," he asserts.

Luke's stance doesn't change; he can handle Bo without hardly moving, at least that's what he's figuring over there. So Bo takes a step closer, his tight chest coming in contact with Luke's relaxed arm, inviting him to face him and either give in or follow him out to the barn.

"You ain't," Luke says in that low voice that he saves for moments when he's not liking what he's hearing. "Telling me what I can't do."

Damn it, it's not even a threat, more of a fact. Unless Bo wants to hang himself on Luke like an anchor, his cousin's going to swing on the end of any old cable that he feels like.

"I ain't," Bo manages to say, instead of making use of that fist he's just made. It's not Luke that he wants to hit, it's everything that he doesn't control in the world, like gravity – and his own emotions. "I'm asking." He keeps his body pressed up against Luke; it feels good there, and he hasn't gotten shoved off yet.

Blue eyes assess him, the same ones that distracted him from the sway of being dangled at the end of an untrustworthy cable, at the mercy of one of the least coordinated men he's ever known. Bo's not sure what Luke sees that makes him move, grabbing Bo's arm and pulling him into the shadows. Might have been the tears of frustration he's trying to hold back.

They're under the old oak tree now, Luke leaning against the trunk. The short walk has taken them out of contact, no part of their bodies touching.

"What else?" Luke asks him, and Bo's stomach caves in on itself. Lord, what did Luke see in his eyes? Not, he silently prays, that thing so deep inside that Bo has only recently recognized what it is? "No riding on the cable of a crane, what else can't I do?" Luke clarifies.

Bo's so relieved (and disappointed) that he can't answer, just shakes his head.

"Bo?" Apparently a headshake wasn't clear enough. Bo swallows and considers saying 'nothing' but steps forward instead. Chest against Luke's, but it's not puffed out this time. Which means he has to be closer, has to have his legs nestled in tight there, and his hands – what should he do with those? They wind up on Luke's shoulders. His cousin stands up from where he's been slouching, his natural heat radiates against every part of Bo that he's touching.

"Just this," Bo says. It's supposed to be a hug. How it becomes a kiss, quiet and gentle and accepting of every bit of his foolishness, Bo doesn't know.


End file.
